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The Silent Pool

I stare into the silent pool
Through mirrors formed of ambient clouds,
Which drift across the water still
Until they reach the shore,
Where dry and brittle reeds protude
With remnants of the moorhen’s nest,
Now empty and deserted
Lies that broken bed of straw.

Where once she cared and tended to
Her small and helpless little chicks,
But now they’ve fledged and spread afar
And headed on their way,
Now hushed the hungry gapes that called
Through blossomed air for winter’s come,
To chill the land and glaze with frost
This cold November day.

No breeze to stir the surface now
Within this weary picture frame,
No ripples on reflections form
To mar this morning scene,
Yet as I watch the passing clouds
Revealing skies of pastel blue,
I pray the spring shall dawn again
And turn the dead to green.

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